


You Don't Stand A Chance

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Strange Hearts & Wild Things [7]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Attempted Roleplay, Fluff, Humor, Interrupted Intimacy, Roleplay, Romance, Thang is such a moment killer, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s their grand confrontation, and tensions - and passions - are running high. Too bad the goblins didn’t get the memo.</p><p>Because these beautiful idiots *so* totally would. Part 7 of my "Strange Hearts & Wild Things" series!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Stand A Chance

Her blade swung in a graceful arc in the dim glow of the chamber, light flashing off of the blade with deadly beauty. A mere display of power, but the threat was real. “Give me what I want.” 

“You dare to make demands of a King, Fairy?”

The whistle the weapon made as it sliced the air was one that spoke of dangerous sharpness, but it was nothing compared to the razor edge of her smile, cruel and curving across her stained lips like the prettiest wound.

Her smirk grew, and words fell once more from that venom-sweet mouth. “Didn’t think you’d ever see a Fairy dare to brave the Forest, did you?” Her voice was honey and fire, brought down to a smolder in the low tones she used. But the challenge was unmistakable.

He glared at her from where he sat on his macabre throne, eyes burning blue in the shadows as he loomed out of darkness, as hunched and predatory as any Beast. “Didn’t think fairies to be the kind to  _seek_  trouble…” He growled, and  _oh_ , he did not lie, the dark brogue of his voice like the quiet, snarling promise of a sword on whetstone. He  _was_  trouble, trouble and danger and who indeed would be so foolhardy and daring to seek him out, risk his wrath?

She smiled, looking at him with eyes that glowed amber in the half-light. “Maybe I’m different from other fairies, Sire.”

He smirked at that, his eyes going over her dark clothing, her stained lips and smoky eyes, the sheer ferocity that she leashed with her slender arms and curved smile, her honey eyes and pointed prettiness. His low voice woven with so many unspoken things. “I’d believe you.”

She cocked her head; the soft sheen of her dark locks gleaming with the motion. “And how does the King feel about…different?”

He leaned forward, his scales crackling as they shifted, tracking her movements. “He is intrigued.”

She gave a soft laugh at that. “Mmm… _intrigued_ …” she hummed to herself, teasing, and she wore her arrogance becomingly, letting her hips sway as she softly stalked closer - a predator’s walk.

His eyes slid down her body, tracing the gentle curves and lean lines of it, the only things about her that spoke of softness in that moment. His eyes gleamed hungrily - a predator’s gaze.

The blade was up again, so much nearer to him now, so much more dangerous. “I don’t like to repeat myself,  _your majesty._  Give me what I want.”

A snarl scraped past fangs, over rough lips. “Nor do I,  _wench._  Find a different King to make demands of.”

The sword shifted, pointing away from his face to his heart, the silver of it a fierce and bright continuation of the supple, strong line of her arm. Her low voice dropped to just above a purr. “I rather think you’d  _like_  the demands I would make of you.”

He laughed then, the first one he had given throughout the whole confrontation, an exhale that verged on bitter. “Are you so very desperate for a fight?”

Brilliant hazel flashed at him. “ _You have no idea.”_

Bright blue blazed at her. “ _Give me some.”_

“Give  _me_  what I want.”

“Make  _it_  worth my while.”

She was close now,  _so close_ , standing right in front of him, the warmth of his spiky, scaly body felt by her. She was practically standing between his legs as he sprawled on the throne, so secure in his power even as his eyes drank in her every move, her every motion…

Audacious and assured, she placed a foot on the throne, claiming it. She leaned forward, her sword still so near, the danger so real, practically crawling onto his lap. “Maybe an agreement can be met?” She breathed.

And  _oh_ , the smirk he gave at that should  _not_ have made her inhale so, not make her insides burn with molten, glorious  _want_  -   

“What kind of agreement could you offer the King of the Dark Forest,  _Fairy?”_  His voice was a soft taunt, the heat of it so palpable she swore she could feel in on her skin.

She gave him another dangerous smirk, then smoothly drew her sword away in favor of sliding a hand up his arms, stroking slow and sensuous against his scales, the soft chafe of her flesh on his amplified in the heated silence.

His gulp was a small one, but still seen, and she felt a sweet hot flash of victory that fueled an even greater fire that burned through her blood.  

“An offer…” she murmured, and  _oh,_  she was unabashedly straddling him, no light escaping between their bodies, and the fire that was in her met its counterpoint in him, he burned against her so. She leaned down a bit, her eyes wanton and wicked, inclining her face towards his as she continued in a dark purr, “…of a  _different_  type of battle.”

His answer was his hands grabbing her, claws piercing her garments as he pulled her to him, and she sank towards his mouth, both of them forgetting anything but undeniable and ravenous want, both of their lips parting -  

“Need any help, Sire? Future Queen?”

They each groaned, Marianne’s high with frustration and Bog’s near a snarl.  _“No. Out.”_

Thang looked between them, his helpful cheer dimmed by uncertainty. “Are you sure –?“

**_“Now.”_ **

“Because if you do –"

At that moment, Stuff’s arm reached through the Throne Room’s doors and yanked Thang away, and they were quickly shut with a resounding  _BOOM_.

As soon as he was gone, Bog and Marianne both slumped, Marianne sinking against him and covering her face with her hand, and Bog’s head hitting his throne with a sharp, heavy  _thunk._  “Damn them, just as we were –" he gritted out.

“ _Locks,_  Bog.” Marianne’s voice was muffled, and lifted her head up to glare at him, frustrated in more ways than one. “ _Locks._  They’re this  _wonderful_ invention that actually gives you some  _freaking privacy_ –"

_“I bloody know what locks are!”_

_“Then why not get them for your Throne Room?!”_

He glared up at her, claws twitching at her thigh. “Ah told ye,” he gritted out, “Th’ Throne Room needs ta remain open in case of an emergency –"

“Then maybe we need to stop doing this!” Marianne shot back, her glower matching his and desperately trying to ignore how the hot, aching pulse between her legs had given a hard little  _thud_  at his rough tones. God,  _this_ was why having his accent thicken when he was angry  _and_  turned on was such a pain in the ass. No matter how hard she wanted to stay mad at him, her body had been conditioned to the point that the sound of his thickened growls sent it  into such a state of hypersensitivity and preparation for rapturous surrender she might as well be waving a white flag –

Bog’s glower immediately dropped at that, dismay in his eyes.

“In here,” Marianne amended immediately, softening. “I just hate getting interrupted, Bog, and you do too –"

“But  _this_  is where it took place!” Claws swept out, indicating the dark and cavernous Throne Room.

“Not really,” Marianne said frankly. “It was in your  _old_  Throne Room, which right now moldering with the rest of your old Castle –"

“Technicality,” Bog groused. “It’s still my –"

“-Throne Room, yeah,” Marianne finished, sighing. It was a fair point, though. There was nowhere else that this would work.  _Or be as fun_.

It had started, as most things did between them, as a joke.  

They had been taking a break from sparring, and had gotten into reminiscing. She had fallen back into the memory of their first night, and playfully sunk once more into the role of the furious Fairy who had shattered through his Castle, growling out threats and swinging her sword as her eyes sparkled with happy mischief. He had egged her on; snarling back retorts while deep amusement threatened to break past bared fangs.

They had just locked their weapons together into that familiar stance, arms aloft and somewhere between snarling and smirking, faces so close, when they had suddenly  _looked_  at each other, and…

Well, things had gotten a bit wild.

More than a bit.

The end result saw Marianne bidding a fond farewell to another tunic, several new scratches and nicks on Bog’s throne, and both of them laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling in a state of exhausted and deliciously sated awe. 

The silence was filled by their ragged attempts to catch their breaths, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken emotion, when Bog suddenly declared, his voice frank, “ _That_ was different.”

Marianne had nodded dazedly. “Yeahhh….”

They had looked at each other, and Marianne felt a little flush of unease go through her. She had been the one to – was it too silly, too -?

Then he had grinned at her, slow and dark and crooked. “ _That’s what I like,”_  he stated, his voice a husky, heartfelt rumble.

Marianne had felt the only appropriate response to that was to pounce on him again. 

And so it had become a Thing. 

A Thing that they did. 

Together.

Marianne let out a faint exhale of disbelief. If she had been told a year ago that she would be doing something like  _this_  –

Well, to be fair, if she had been told a year ago she would fall head over heels for someone like Bog –

She focused her attention back on him, arching a brow. “Dare I ask if you wanna try again? Or has the mood perished under Thang’s cruel fist?”

Bog sighed. “The only kill he’ll ever claim. I’m sorry, Tough Girl, it’s well and truly broken –"

“Shattered just like your skylight, once upon a time,” Marianne hummed, settling herself more comfortably on his lap. She reclined against the arm of the throne and smiled up at him, her eyes warm and affectionate and content. “It’s fine, Bog. This is good too.”

He looked at her and, despite his moroseness, his lips twitched in a small half-smile as he glanced from her brilliant eyes up to the skylight of his new fortress. Well, not  _new,_  almost a year had passed; one could hardly call it new after so much had occurred…

Gods, a  _year_. A year where everything had both rushed by them like a stream over a stone and stilled like an insect in amber. So many experiences made seemingly timeless.  _All because of her._   

He had once believed, truly believed, that Love Was Dangerous. He had known with all his broken heart that without Order, Chaos would reign.

He still did, to some degree.

But now…now he knew that Love was a danger that one needed to feel alive. Now he knew that sometimes Chaos  _had_ to be introduced, that the pieces of a crumbling Order  _had_  to be thrown up into the air to be able to fall into a newer, more natural place.

All that knowledge gained the night she had broken through his defenses, screaming her rebel yell and shattering his Castle and his bitter loneliness in one fell swoop –

Nothing was more dangerous to him than her. Nothing had thrown his whole existence into such rapturous chaos.  _Love is dangerous._

 _A year with her._  When really it seemed like a new life altogether…

Marianne, unaware of his introspection, stretched luxuriously, adoring the feeling of being cradled by him. “Besides, we’ll have next time.”

Bog shook his head to clear it, and brightened a bit as her words got through. “So there  _will_  be a next time?”

“Hell yeah. Though…maybe we can change it up a bit.”

He cocked a brow at her. “How so?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she pretended to ponder, and then slid her eyes slyly over to him. “You know…I don’t think I’ve checked out the dungeons here yet.”

He blinked, before an utterly unholy light came into his eyes, making the blue of them shine, and  _oh_ , his grin was positively  _evil_.

It was matched perfectly by the sheer wickedness in Marianne’s answering smirk.

As Bog pulled her into a fierce embrace, determined to kiss away that smile from those sweetly dark lips, he couldn’t help but chuckle.  _Nothing was more dangerous than her._

Gods, he hadn’t stood a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST WANTED TO CLARIFY.
> 
> Bog and Marianne are still at Hard Core Passionate Make Outs That Get Very Very Very Close To Going All The Way But Don’t. 
> 
> Believe you me, their first time demands an entire fanfic. Which, I assure you, is most definitely planned.


End file.
